


Vacant

by Aris



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 1979, Child Abuse, Daddy Issues, Hippy!Loki, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 09:31:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aris/pseuds/Aris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He lets the paper slide from his lap and, before leaving, places his cigarette carefully over Howard's face.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vacant

The rain worms its way underneath the collar of Tony's leather jacket, its cold tendrils caressing a shiver from his spine as it winds past every vertebrae, turning hot against his skin and the clinging of his shirt. Licking his lips, Tony pulls the jacket further into his body, not raising his eyes from the grey of the New York sidewalk, and quickens his pace, trying his best to rush while his heart is very much set against it. 

Two weeks.

It had been two weeks since a _crash_ and a _bang_ and a _bye, bye mommy_ and three hours since a loud, sharp slap to the face for using such _infantile language_. Howard had been angry enough to shove Tony out of the front door with a black eye and what felt like a broken arm, neighbours and their curious eyes be damned, into the streets of New York. He'd stormed off, a cradle for his boyish pride but what he could now admit was a bad idea, and let himself be guided by the rush and the bustle of black suits and hazy neon lights. But now, tired and unwilling, he allowed his feet to turn to the house of one of his friends, the fact he couldn't go home weighing impossibly heavy on his taunt heart tendons.

He didn't know Bruce well enough, a mere science partner and wall to bounce ideas off, and Steve's family was so painfully _happy_ and _american_ that it made Tony's skin itch with unease, with longing for a red-lipped mother and an ex-military father who hung his gun above the television, proud and daring. No - his only choice was one Thor Odinson and his frequently absent parents. The big guy probably wouldn't mind too much, may even welcome the company, and Tony had his fingers crossed that his parents were in England or some place equally far; he detested meeting people's parents and the slew of Howard Stark related questions that shortly followed his introduction. He had enough of his old man at home, especially as of late with all the yelling and the hitting and _we only had you because she wanted you!_ yelled after his retreating back at two am.

Well, yeah. 

Tony turned the corner of the rain-slicked street and was meant with the sight of a mansion readily packed between two others, superfluous in windows and doors and extravagant pillars. It almost made him smile, really, because it was like his own home in that bitter, impersonal way that reminded him of packed hospital wards and classy cigarettes. It struck true in a way that caused an ache, an uprising, and made Tony wonder if it was really Howard's fist and his own pride that kept him away.

Shaking away the intruding thoughts and casting his face into a softer setting, Tony approached the doors to the mansion, surprised to find the black iron gate was left ajar, and laid the knocker down with some weight. _Be confident and assured, boy, even if you're not _and Tony unconsciously stands straighter, hands going to smooth out a suit he's not wearing and grasping for pockets that aren't there. A leather jacket and jeans -he honestly wouldn't be surprised if he was turned away at first glance.__

__There's a pause, a beat, and Tony wants to fidget but is kept in place by years of formality and manners. He hears the unlock of a door, metal against wood, and the door lackadaisically falls inward. The boy revealed is not a servant, Tony's sure, and wears a floral button-up, left open at the top, tucked into fraying jeans. A loose waist-coat is pulled over it and, despite the space it provides, the boy's torso seems impossibly thin. Pale feet are bare and when Tony finally realises that he should be looking upwards, a small smile is blessing the angled face, green eyes twinkling just slightly and long, dark hair being brushed over a sharp shoulder. It's longer than his mothers was, and Tony feels a spike of pain._ _

__"Hello?" the boy queries, stance relaxed and not at all formal. His voice is soft but with the hint of something deeper, darker - the kind of voice Tony associates with coyly curled lips in dark alleyways and the unnerving ruffle to a pretty-boys hair. Tony tries not to think on how much the boy before him very much fits these descriptions._ _

__"I- hello, I'm -"_ _

__"Tony Stark," the boy interjects softy._ _

__"-Yes. I - Is Thor in?" Tony cuts off abruptly, pushed off kilter by the boys input and find himself staring at the salience of bared collarbones. He doesn't seem to mind the lack of manners, and his smile only grows wider._ _

__"Of course. I shall call for him. Do come in, Tony Stark." Tony steps in at the gesture and the door is closed behind him, large and white, and the boy - a hippy, Tony suddenly understands - makes his way from the parlour, impossibly long legs carrying him with a gentle sort of elegance. He feels awkward among the riches of others, though he himself was raised within it's confines, and puts it down to the unpleasant way his shirt clings to his back and how his arm lies limply at his side, straining in a ache he hardly notices anymore. The boy, it seemed, had not even questioned his injuries and seemed rather calm about the fact that Tony Stark had turned up beaten and wet in common clothes at the doorway to the Odinson's home. It makes Tony frown._ _

__After a minute or so the boy returns in that gliding, gracious way and pulls a cigarette from his pocket, asking Tony in a low, breathy voice if he has a lighter. Tony does, and when he pulls it from his pocket the boy doesn't accept the lighter - he bends down instead, his height coming in quick realisation, and offers the cigarette to Tony in between pale, curved lips. Throat dry and unease rising, Tony flips open the lighter and flicks the wheel a few times, painfully aware of the dark haired boy proximity, and lights the cigarette. The boy does this smile, the third fucking smile Tony's seen from him, and then he's gone, close to nothing, long legs whipping him away and smoke trailing behind him. His dark hair flows to the center of his back in a way that forces Tony to reminisce of a late night party and a blue-eyed girl who could do this _twist_ with her-_ _

__"Tony!" - and there's a voice he recognises. Thor is there, gold and bright and smiling like the sun didn't have a finger on him, it washes away the unease of the boy and the state of his arm and his own face blossoms into a smile. He's so happy to see a friendly face it's unbelievable - New York business men didn't take kindly to blood stained teenagers in leather jackets - and is only, forcefully, reminded that he'd been smacked round the face and shoved out a door only three hours earlier when Thor comes in for a hug, seemingly not noticing Tony's black eye and wet clothes._ _

__"Woah- woah - hey there, Thor - going to need you to not - ow! Fuck!" Tony cradles his arm with his other hand and Thor quickly resembles a kicked puppy, face morphing into large eyes and an unmanly pout. "Hey - no harm done, Thor. It was just my old man, you know, but angry - I, uh, think it's broken. Know any doctors?" He knows his smile is sheepish but Thor responds as expected - not with sympathy, but with action. He leads Tony to a living room, well-decorated and unashamedly pale, before reaching towards a telephone situated on a table next to a fireplace and a television - one of the bigger, new ones with a screen wider than a microwave._ _

__Howard had smashed one exactly like it just last week._ _

__While Thor talks in superior tones down the wire, Tony stands next to a white sofa, unwilling to sit while he knows he's covered in the grime from the streets and the blood from his own injuries. It's plain bad manners to dirty a friends house, as he was taught, and Thors' home is especially intimidating - cast in the modern shades that highlight dirt particularly well. He finds himself shuffling from foot to foot, eyes skipping over picture frames and getting caught by one in particular. It's of Thor, smiling and happy and simply unable to be mistaken as someone else, and next to him a slim, dark haired figure. Both are in black suits, and though he has shorter hair, the second person can't be anything but the boy who answered the door._ _

__Important enough to have a framed picture with Thor, but not so that he's above answering the door? Interesting._ _

__Setting down the telephone, Thor once more leads Tony elsewhere, this time up a staircase and down a corridor, entering a remarkably empty room which contains only a white-sheeted bed, a bed-side table and what seems to be a random arrangement of chairs in the bottom right corner. Thor is talking - something about a doctor arriving within the hour and how this is the room he's always been taken when treated, which in turn seemed to lead him to a recounting of a childhood exhibition that undoubtedly ended with blood. Tony listens, partly amused, while he removes his jacket carefully, working it slowly down his injured arm. It still results in small gasps, but Thor talks valiantly over them, seeming to sense that Tony needs a distraction._ _

__His friends know about Howard, have seen the bruises and the cuts, and though they had attempted to talk to him, offer him a reprieve if you will, and Tony had only responded aggressively up to today. His ego had been torched enough behind closed doors, and it had seemed like his friends intended to mock him with the constant reminders, strip him down till he was a ten year old boy who lost his mommy walking around a mall. He was seven-fucking-teen and his mom had died, sure, but that didn't mean he was any less of a man._ _

__He closes his eyes, feeling the throb of his cheek, and quietly wonders after the dark haired boy._ _

###### 

__Arm in sling, Tony ventures out to the Odinson's garden, feeling full from a breakfast he didn't think he could stomach. Thor had left - a sport practice he could not escape - but instructed Tony that, because his parents weren't in and the help quiet, he was free to roam the house and it's gardens. Tony had taken him up on it, feeling bored and longing for something to do with his hands, and now walks a cement pathway that leads around the long garden. He sees a collection of tall bushes ahead, like the ones that ring the gardens walls, and a trail of smoke over-head._ _

__He tries to tell himself he doesn't know who's going to be there, but curiosity is an insatiable thing and the dip of pale cheekbones is fresh in his mind. That dip becomes reality when he rounds the bush and is meant with an impossibly long plane of pale, white flesh. There's a guitar propped on a jean-clad lap, but Tony only half notices it until there's a chuckle, low and satisfying, that draws his sight where it needs to be._ _

__The boy is smiling (always, always _smiling_ ) and it's the amusement that snaps Tony to reality, makes him move again - and when he does, he sits opposite the boy, carefully keeping his eyes away from the shirtless hippie in cut-off denim, hair tied to the side in what looks to be a plait weaved in with green fibres. If Tony noticed they match the boys eyes, he doesn't say anything._ _

__"Well, Tony Stark," the hand not holding the guitar cradles a cigarette, and a drag is drawn before he continues, "What brings you out here?"_ _

__"What's your name?" Tony blurts out in response, unrefined and rude, and his inner Howard Stark scolds him, brow furrowed, fist raised and mouth open to tell his son what a _fucking_ waste of -_ _

__"Loki," he smiles pleasantly, "I am Loki." Loki, the name is strange, takes another cigarette in his mouth and lights it, tongue licking at the unlit end in a seductive, controlled way, before he offers it to Tony. Hesitantly, Tony leans forward and takes the cigarette from Loki's hands and - and- his fingers are so _long_ sinfully so. He feels himself blushing when he puts the dampened end of the cigarette to his mouth, trying to not taste the boy on his own tongue; Loki only smiles harder, flicking his own cigarette. _ _

__"And you - you are Tony Stark." Tony nods, though it seems Loki hardly needs a que, "Tony Stark - why is your arm in a sling?"_ _

__He shifts uncomfortably, smoke falling from his lips and eyes flicking between the plants that surround them, noting the vibrance of a red-petalled plant in a passive, admiring way. "I got into a fight," he eventually replies, having decided he wants a cherry-red car, the same as the flower, with silver linings and a creme interior. Modern, expensive, flashy. Everything a Stark is._ _

__"Looks like a pretty one sided fight."_ _

__"You should see the other guy."_ _

__"I have," Loki tosses the stub of his fag to the floor and grabs a newspaper from the table besides him, throwing it into Tony's lap where a corner is burnt by the angle of his cigarette. Tony curses, struggling to pull it away, and tears the corner off, mumbling to himself and stilling when the headline comes into focus._ _

__**STARK INDUSTRIES AGREES TO NEW WEAPON CONTRACT** _ _

__His old man is smiling back at him from the paper, hand grasped by a military man, wearing the same clothes he had been when he gave Tony his black eye. Charming. He clears his throat, then looks back up to Loki - only to find he's now standing right next to him. He starts, surprised by the proximity, and Loki brings a leg up, propping the knee on the edge of his chair and placing his hands next to Tony's on the sides. He leans in, slow and luxurious, face close and getting closer. Tony can't breathe - is holding his breath - can almost feels lips against his - Loki veers to the side, last minute._ _

__"You're not the only one with daddy issues, Stark." and then hot air is gone from his ear and Tony's left watching a cigarette burn itself out on the concrete clearing. He's abruptly cold and alone and painfully aware of something pressing up against the jeans Thor leant him. Something all too familiar from long nights spent alone. He lets the paper slide from his lap and, before leaving, places his cigarette carefully over Howard's face._ _

__He's not there to see the fire slowly eat up Howard's showman smile but, when he turns in the doorway, he watches the lazy drag of smoke winding up to the heavens._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Thus I start the 1979 verse featuring hippie!Loki and modern!Tony
> 
> Thanks so much for reading ^__^
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://norsed.tumblr.com)


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